


thunder crashes (want to make you mine)

by fragiledrug



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Language, M/M, Oral Sex, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:04:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragiledrug/pseuds/fragiledrug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t like thunder, never had. The fear was irrational. After all, he knew thunder was just the sound of the lightning, of air that been rapidly heated and if he was going to be afraid of anything it should be the lightning itself but no, it was the thunder, particularly when it was so close it ricocheted through his body and disturbed the natural rhythm of his heart like the bass on some of Dean’s heavy metal music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thunder crashes (want to make you mine)

**Author's Note:**

> Sam is seventeen in this but I marked it as underage/Weechesters just in case.
> 
> Title shamelessly stolen from Thunder by The Runaways.

A white-blue flash illuminated the darkened sky barely even a second before the deafening crack of thunder chased its heels, and both were so abrupt Dean couldn’t keep from jumping slightly in surprise – and on the other side of the car Sam woke from a sleep he hadn’t realized he’d fallen into with a violent start, a distressed gasp caught in the back of his throat. Another flash, another rumble, right overhead this time and nearly palpable in the way it vibrated through the car. Sam cringed down in the seat, screwing his eyes shut as tightly as he could. He didn’t like thunder, never had. The fear was irrational. After all, he knew thunder was just the sound of the lightning, of air that been rapidly heated and if he was going to be afraid of anything it should be the lightning itself but no, it was the thunder, particularly when it was so close it ricocheted through his body and disturbed the natural rhythm of his heart like the bass on some of Dean’s heavy metal music.

“Dean.” He knew he sounded pathetic, more than halfway to panicking and on the verge of tears, his voice strained and breaking.

“It’s okay, Sammy, I’m here.”

“Where are we?”

“We just crossed over the Colorado border about fifteen minutes ago.”

The sky lit up again, bright as day, and if Sam had been the least bit aware of the keening whimper that escaped him when the thunder rolled deep and long after the electric flash he would have been mortified. As it was, he sank further down until the seatbelt was cutting into him uncomfortably.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck _fuckfuckfuck_ fuccckkkk.” It was a rapid, breathless chant under his breath.

Dean lifted one of his hands from the steering wheel, reaching for Sam to touch his hair, reassure him, only to bite back a curse of his own as it suddenly started down-pouring. The rain was thick, less like individual drops all coming down at once but still separately and more like a consistent sheet of water. He almost couldn’t see the road in front of him.

“Pull over. Please, Dean, please pull over.”

Dean complied without question, pulling over to what he believed was the side of the road and cutting the engine off. The abrupt silence of the engine made the rain seem infinitely louder. He barely had time to take a breath before Sam was suddenly on top of him, having unlocked his seatbelt and crawled across the seat to invade what little bit of personal space Dean had.

“Hey, it’s okay, I got you,” he soothed, even as Sam’s knee dug into his thigh, making him wince at the pinch of pain. This was a lot easier when Sam was younger and, consequently, smaller, but at seventeen he was all arms and legs and elbows and knees and he didn’t seem to have complete control over any of his limbs just yet. He almost laughed when Sam hit his head on the Impala’s roof but then Sam was shifting against him, another keening whimper torn from his throat and the sound went straight down Dean’s spine to his cock like an invisible but all-too-real bolt of lightning. “Wait, wait, Sam.” Reaching up, he managed to grab Sam’s face, stilling him long enough to press their mouths together. It was a light, sweet slide of lips, Sam’s breath a shaky exhale that Dean inhaled and trapped in his lungs for several seconds. He knew what his little brother needed at times like this, when he was out of control and on the verge of completely losing his shit; he needed Dean to let him fall apart under his hands and put him back together. There wasn’t nearly enough room for that in the driver’s seat, however, and Dean began the arduous process of coaxing Sam into the back.

It only took three tries before Sam relented and crawled over the center console to the back seat, dragging Dean with him as if he couldn’t stand to be without physical contact for even that small amount of time. He stretched out across the seat – or sort of stretched out, knees bent because he was way too tall to fit in the car that way – on his back and Dean hovered above him, hands on either side of his head and his knees on either side of his thighs. One of Sam’s legs was pressed against his crotch and he couldn’t help rolling his hips slightly, adding more pressure to the singular point of contact. Sam’s hazel eyes were dilated, pupils blown wide in a combination of fear and lust, though Dean had every intention of making Sam forget the former. Dean rolled his hips again and this time Sam pushed up, his hands fisting into Dean’s too-short hair and pulling him down for a brusque kiss that was more teeth and tongue than lips.

Dean could feel him trembling, fine shudders that quaked through his body, and he shifted to be able to place a hand on Sam’s stomach, inching the fabric of his shirt up until his fingers grazed flesh. Sam was hot, always so hot, like he ran at least three degrees higher than everyone else. It was nice in the winter and it was nice then, with the cold of the weather trying to seep inside the car. His stomach muscles flexed and twitched involuntarily beneath Dean’s touch and he slid his hand higher, pushing under the shirt, over the defined planes of Sam’s abdomen and to his chest, where he thumbed over a nipple. Sam hissed in response, teeth catching on Dean’s bottom lip. Dean broke the kiss with a groan, pulling his hand out from under Sam’s shirt to lean back and attack the button of Sam’s jeans, then the zipper. The sound of the zip was drowned out by the combined cadence of rain pelting the roof in a relentless torrent and their heavy, panted breaths. Sam lifted his ass without being told and Dean tugged the jeans down until his hipbones were visible. He had to pause then, ducking down to drag his tongue along the sharp, tempting curve of one. After that, he yanked his jeans the rest of the way off, discarding them somewhere on the floor. Before Sam could get settled again he took hold of his cock, giving it a firm squeeze, and then licked a hot, wet stripe from base to head, tasting the precome that had gathered at the tip. Sam made a broken noise when Dean’s tongue drew across his slit, something that sounded like a plea for more and his name but he was too far gone to enunciate. “Relax, baby,” Dean murmured, right against Sam’s cock. “You’re so damn beautiful like this, all spread out for me.” Sam made another broken noise, this time because Dean took him into his mouth, sucking hard, just the way he knew Sam liked. He took him as deep as he could, forcing past his gag reflex, feeling the head of Sam’s cock at the back of his throat. His throat would be sore later, voice raw as a result, and for some reason that thought was way hotter than it had any right to be. Guiding Sam’s hips up once in permission, Dean let him fuck his mouth, six, seven thrusts until he was crying out with his orgasm – _Dean, oh fuck, Dean_! – and Dean tried to swallow it all down but some escaped from the corner of his mouth as he pulled off.

Sam laughed at the sight, breathless and beautiful, and Dean smiled despite himself. “You look obscene. Like, porn star obscene.”

“Shut up.” Still smiling, Dean stretched over Sam and pressed their mouths together. Sam immediately opened for him, licking away the last traces of his own come from Dean’s lips and tongue. Dean broke the kiss to trail a series of nips and licks along Sam’s jaw line, one hand unzipping and unbuttoning his own pants with a practiced dexterity. Pushing them down enough that his cock was free, he repositioned Sam, moving his legs on either side of his hips and lifting his ass. Sam allowed himself to be manipulated, head thrown back to give Dean better access to his throat. Dean spent a few more minutes marking him, sucking his skin red and making him writhe until he tightened his legs with a desperate, begging whine and rolled his hips, rubbing his quickly recovering erection against Dean’s lower stomach and consequently smearing come on his shirt – not that Dean cared just then.

Taking his cock in hand, Dean guided himself to Sam’s entrance and pushed in, slowly, his head slipping past the tight ring of muscle with a groan he wasn’t certain which of them made. He meant to keep going slow, to drive Sam mad little by little until he was incoherent with need, but Sam had other ideas; arching beneath Dean, he forced him deeper, drawing a shuddering gasp from him as he sank further into the inviting heat of his body. In reprimand, Dean bit down on his shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise. Sam merely groaned, the pain embraced with the pleasure. Licking the bite, Dean began to thrust in earnest, each pull out and push back in taking him deeper until he was sheathed to the hilt, his hips pressed to Sam’s ass, his cock grazing his prostate almost continuously. He panted against the hollow of Sam’s shoulder, hips stuttering slightly when Sam raked blunt nails down his back and sides. Reaching between them, he gripped Sam’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. They gradually lost any semblance of true rhythm as Dean pounded into Sam, drawing bitten-off groans and cries from him.

“Sam, oh, Sam, Sammy, fuck, Sam.” It was litany whispered into Sam’s sweat-soaked skin. Sam dragged his nails down Dean’s back again, reveling in the hiss of breath, the way he thrust harder. Turning his head, he caught Dean’s earlobe with his teeth – and that was all it took; Dean went rigid and came with a low cry, spilling liquid heat inside him. The feeling was enough to take Sam over the edge as well, his breath right against Dean’s ear. They rode it out together, and when the waves of pleasure finally subsided Dean slumped against him. For several long moments they didn’t move, their harsh breathing the only sound in the car, and that was when Dean realized it had stopped storming.


End file.
